Chapter 1: My Sister, My World

Everyone dey envy me because I get one gentle and fine senior sister—real goddess, brain box, bookworm—everybody dey hail am for school.

For our street, anytime Morayo pass, you go see old mama for veranda dey hail her, dey pray, dey wish say their own pikin go get sense reach am. Even my papa friends dey always use her name dey threaten their children: “You no dey see as Morayo dey carry first? Na so person suppose be!” Sometimes, I dey feel say the whole neighbourhood dey look my family with special eye because of her.

But nobody sabi say, for those secret, hot rainy nights, when rain dey drum zinc, mosquito dey sing for ear, and NEPA don carry light, na she collect almost all my firsts.

Na those nights, when NEPA don take light and rain dey beat zinc sotay you no fit hear yourself, na then I go feel her hand for my back, or her warm breath for my ear. All those small, small firsts wey people dey talk about—first time person hold you, first time you get courage talk your mind, first time you feel say you belong—na Morayo dey give me, quietly, without anybody for house sabi. Sometimes, I dey wonder if na only me dey lucky like this, or if everybody get one person wey dey show them how to survive for this world.

At the end, she just laugh me, say she go scatter my life finish, no know say na her own life I don spoil already.

She dey talk am like joke, but sometimes, for her eye, I dey see one kain shadow, like say she dey hide something deep. The way she dey squeeze my cheek, or call me “my wahala,” you go think say na play, but I know say the matter pass as e be. Na so two of us dey carry our own wahala dey waka, dey laugh for outside, dey hide pain for inside.